


No Such a Thing As a Blasphemy

by LunaDeSangre



Series: However Improbable [2]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Gen, Snapshots, season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 20:37:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15494184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaDeSangre/pseuds/LunaDeSangre
Summary: House sees. House sees everything.





	No Such a Thing As a Blasphemy

No matter what he says, it eats at him, still. Gnaws at his hollowed core—at his hollowed _soul_ , relentlessly, like the proverbial never-sleeping evil.

He hides it well, he thinks. Or disguises it as something else: his shattered marriage, the latest patient dying, overworking—anything but _I'm a murderer_ (Twice now. _Twice_.) and _God won't give me absolution._

But House sees. House sees everything.

He sees Chase hiding out on his balcony one morning too, drained from yet another horrible sleepless night, curled up in a ball in the corner just trying to breathe, breathe and not think about _that room_. About that priest. About Cameron.

Opens the door, limps closer.

Says: " _Chase_ ," heavily, all condescending exasperation (with possibly just a tiny little hint of concern seeping through, but that could just be willful thinking on Chase's part). "There's _no God_."

Chase breathes slowly, once. And: "There's _you_ ," he whispers, just because, just to see—desperate and out of options, with nothing to loose, no one else to hold on to.

There's a long, long silence—he doesn't dare look up.

And suddenly, House's hand is on his bowed head. He doesn't jump, because he's just frozen all over, staring wide-eyed at his own knees—he's not even sure he's still breathing. House leaves it there for a second, moves it up, puts it back down, does it again. Like reassuring a puppy.

Or giving absolution, maybe: "You did the right thing," House murmurs, low-pitched, some kind of quiet rumble. Chase would think he's imagining this, but he can feel the tiny vibrations of House's voice against his skull, through House's hand in his hair. _He can feel House_. "Now stop fucking beating yourself up on account of that maniacal tyrant and go do my clinic hours like a good boy."

Chase's breath comes out in a surprised laugh, and there's _tears_ in it, but impossibly, House doesn't comment on them—simply pats him once more and limps back into his office. He leaves the door wide opened.

 _There's always you_ , Chase thinks at him, now overflowing with the incommensurable gratefulness of the newly saved.


End file.
